Hero's Welcome
by opalish
Summary: HBP spoilers, HarryGinny, and RonHermione. Harry's return home after Voldemort's defeat doesn't go quite as expected. Warning: bad jokes and pointlessness ahead.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: HP isn't mine.

Beta'd by Nimbirosa, Wren Truesong, and dress-without-sleeves. DWS insists that horcrux be capitalized, but I say: bring on the lowercase, baby. And I was going to post this in the morning, but I wanted to wake up to a nice inbox full of reviews. Hinthinthint. And now I'm going to sleep.

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She gave up waiting for him to return after the first few months. It took her a while, but Ginny finally accepted that he wouldn't come back until he'd won the war and defeated Voldemort once and for all.

And he would win - of that, she had no doubt. Harry wasn't the sort to let himself lose; it was one of the reasons she'd believed him when he told her the Sorting Hat had tried to put him in Slytherin. He didn't lose, and he always survived.

He'd survive this time too.

But he wouldn't come home, wouldn't come back to her, until he'd ensured everyone else's survival. And that was why he'd been put in Gryffindor.

Despite that, though, there were nights like tonight when she couldn't sleep, and she'd pull a chair up to her open window and stare out at the stars and the moon, imagining she could see him walking through the gardens in the dark. She'd see him clearly in her mind's eye, striding up the front walk with Hermione and Ron, smiling triumphantly. Or perhaps he'd be too weary to smile, but when he saw her his eyes would light up and the tiredness would melt away. She'd run out of her room, down the stairs, and throw open the front door; she'd grab him in a hug, kiss him, let him lift her up and twirl her around.

Sighing, Ginny glanced away from the gardens and up at the moon. A shadow seemed to flicker across it, then another...

Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she tried to make out the shapes of the shadows. Broomsticks?

Yes, brooms. Two of them, and headed straight for the Burrow. She could barely make them out in the darkness, but it was unmistakable.

Her heart began to pound. It could be an attack...but only two brooms? The Burrow was pretty heavily fortified, especially after the attack at Bill's wedding. But the Order always floo'd over; she couldn't remember the last time any of them had ridden a broom to the house. Other than Tonks, but she was...well, Tonks.

One of the brooms began speeding, and very faintly, Ginny heard a cry of alarm.

"Ron! Slow down!"

She froze. That was Hermione's shrill screech; she'd heard it thousands of times before, whenever Ron did something particularly stupid.

Make that millions of times, then.

Squinting, she studied the broom in front. Two riders...Ron and Hermione were home. Her brother was back, as was her best friend.

And the other broom...

The rider had to be Harry.

Her mouth dry, Ginny watched silently as Ron landed his broom in the daisy patch. Hermione immediately began scolding him again - "They were so pretty; you're always so careless; couldn't you have landed in the grass?" - when Ron twisted around and kissed her full on the lips.

Ginny's eyebrows shot up, and her shocked silence ended with a deeply relieved, "Finally!" She spoke a little too loudly, and her brother and best friend froze and turned to stare guiltily up at her.

"Ginny?" Ron said, and she was certain that he'd gone red, though she couldn't tell in the scant moonlight. "What're you doing up at this hour?"

"Oh hush, Ron," Hermione said crossly. "You were making enough noise to wake all of England."

"_I_ was making noise?" Ron demanded, eyes narrowing. Ginny blinked as the two apparently forgot entirely about her. She couldn't help feeling rather offended; she hadn't seen either of them for nearly a year, and she hadn't even gotten a 'hello'. "You're the one who's been nagging me all night! 'Not that way, Ron', 'higher, Ron', 'not so fast, Ron', 'don't go there, Ron'..."

"I don't really want to hear about your nocturnal activities with Hermione, Ron," Ginny interjected with a grin.

Hermione's eyes widened in mortification. Ron sputtered indignantly.

"Where's Harry?" Ginny demanded before either one could recover, figuring that if they weren't going to greet her politely, then she'd be just as rude.

"Oh, that's nice," Ron snapped. "You see me for the first time in a year, and I get innuendo and 'where's Harry'."

"He's coming," Hermione said wearily, rolling her eyes. "I think he's a bit nervous, really. He's taking a few minutes to calm down, gird his loins and so on."

Ginny pondered his loins for a few blissful moments, then shook herself out of that admittedly pleasant reverie. "What on earth is he nervous about?" she asked, brow furrowed. "I'm assuming Voldemort is gone; you wouldn't have come back if he weren't-"

"Oh, he's gone," Ron said, his voice smugly satisfied. "We kicked his arse. Without his stupid whorecups-"

"Horcruxes," Hermione corrected him in a tired tone that lead Ginny to believe they'd had a similar exchange several times before.

"Right, those - well, without them, old Voldie didn't have a chance."

Hermione snorted. "We very nearly died, Ron."

"Well, yeah, but Voldemort _did_ die, and we're still alive. Ergo, we kicked his arse."

"I think Hermione's rubbed off on you," Ginny said thoughtfully, bemused by her normally dense brother's use of a relatively esoteric word. "In more than one way," she added wickedly.

"Ginny!"

Really, the reunion wasn't anywhere near as touching or glorious as she'd expected. On the other hand, she'd already thoroughly humiliated her brother, so she figured it was a fair trade-off. Plus, the news that Voldemort was dead was enough to brighten any situation.

Not that she'd doubted for a second that Harry could do it. Nope. Not even for a second.

Well, maybe a second. Or two. Maybe.

"And what are these whorecracks you mentioned?" Ginny asked, her neck starting to ache from peering down at Ron and Hermione. "Voldemort couldn't survive without drug-addicted prostitutes?"

"Horcruxes! And they've nothing to do with - with _prostitutes_. Or drugs," Hermione snapped, glaring at Ron.

"It wasn't me!" he protested. Hermione sniffed skeptically.

"You're the one who started this silliness, _Won-Won,_" the bushy-haired girl pointed out.

"We agreed not to ever use that name!"

"Oh, sorry, perhaps you'd prefer _Ronzil_-"

"Hey, remember me? And the whorecracks?" Ginny prompted, a little annoyed that they were back to ignoring her.

"_Horcruxes_," Hermione repeated, a touch sullenly, "are items imbued with part of the spellcaster's soul, which allow him or her to live after his or her physical body is destroyed."

"Neat," Ginny said, impressed. "I want one."

"You have to kill someone first," Hermione said disapprovingly.

"...well, Ron _has_ outlived his use."

"Hey!"

"_Anyway_," Hermione interrupted self-importantly, "Voldemort had six horcruxes. We had to find and destroy them all. Then Harry dueled Voldemort and won."

"It's amazing, how you can make the greatest event of this century sound as dry and musty as something out of one of your textbooks," Ron muttered. Ginny snickered. Someone else snickered, and Ginny looked up to see Harry hovering outside her window, still on his broom. He noticed her looking, and immediately got a hunted, wary look in his eyes.

"Oh. There you are," she said stupidly.

"Er. Yeah," he replied, swallowing. He really did have a lovely neck. And gorgeous eyes. And-

"Where's your scar?" she demanded, staring.

"It was a horcrux," Harry said with a nervous shrug. "Um, a horcrux is-"

"A drugged prostitute, I know," Ginny said. Harry blinked. "So the scar's gone for good?"

Part of her - no, most of her - wondered what the hell she was doing. She should be yelling at him for risking his life and going away, or kissing him, or something. Anything other than talking about prostitutes.

Oh god. What if he'd found someone else?

"Yeah. I mean, unless someone else curses me with the Avada Kedavra, feels it begin to rebound, and quickly places some of his essense in my forehead to stop from dying."

"Right. Good. It was ugly, anyway."

They stared at each other dumbly for an agonizing few seconds, and the awkwardness began to make Ginny's skin creep. He'd killed Voldemort. He'd killed the most powerful Dark Lord in history. There was no way he'd settle for someone like her now. Hell, he probably had a whole string of girlfriends.

Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. Harry's eyes widened in fear.

No way were some stupid vapid blonde horcruxes moving in on her territory. "You're taking me out," she growled.

"What?" he squeaked.

"On a date," she snapped. "Tomorrow night. And you're paying for everything. And then we're going to kiss goodnight, and you're going to buy me hundreds of flowers in apology for breaking up with me. And then you're going to buy me chocolate - lots and lots of chocolate - to make up for leaving me behind while you and my brother and Hermione went gallivanting off to save the world."

He blinked again. Ginny was starting to fear he'd lost all traces of intelligence and personality along with his scar, when finally she got a reaction.

Harry grinned. And then he laughed and edged his broom closer to her window, leaned towards her, and kissed her.

And it was roses and chocolates and shooting stars, and...garlic?

She pulled back very suddenly and coughed. "Merlin, Harry, what did you eat for dinner?"

"Um."

"Go. Brush your teeth, then get back here. I'm not snogging someone with garlic-breath."

She heard a low groan, and looked down to see Ron clutching his stomach and making gagging sounds. Hermione had buried her face in her hands and was muttering what sounded like, "Why am I dating him? Good kisser, that's right. And freckles. I like the freckles."

"You know," Harry said dryly, "this isn't exactly the reception we'd expected."

Ginny couldn't help laughing, and tears filled her eyes. Voldemort was dead, Ron and Hermione were alive and together...and Harry was here, and apparently quite willing to pick up where they'd left off.

Garlic breath be damned, she thought, and leaned out of the window to kiss him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: HP isn't mine.

You can blame this on Dress-Without-Sleeves. She forced me to write this, so it's all her fault. But she did let me rip off her MWPP fic, Correspondences, and she beta'd this chapter, so I suppose I can forgive her.

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Harry glowered at the Order resentfully.

He was supposed to be on a date with Ginny at the moment. Granted, she _was _sitting right next to him, but this was nothing like the evening out he'd planned. For one, there was no food. No footsie. No snogging. Not even flirtatious comments and innuendo, because Ron was on his other side and Harry didn't fancy being gutted.

After his not-so-triumphant return and the garlic breath fiasco the night before, he'd slept quite soundly on Ginny's bedroom floor until Mrs. Weasley had come in at about ten in the morning to wake her daughter up. She'd gotten quite a surprise when she'd tripped over him and landed on Ron. Her shocked scream and Ron's muffled shout of agony woke the entire house.

Harry had been hoping for some quality time with his girlfriend, but instead he'd spent an hour trying to get Molly Weasley to stop crushing him, Ron, and Hermione in steely-armed hugs, then another hour trying to get her to stop crying.

After that exhausting ordeal, Fred and George had seen fit to have a little talk with him about leading their youngest brother astray.

"Leading Ron astray?" Harry'd repeated incredulously, as he wondered how the two Weasley boys could seem more sinister and frightening than Voldemort and his countless Death Masticators. "It's not like I seduced him into a life of murder and mayhem, you know. We were saving the world!"

"That's what they all say," Fred had replied scornfully.

"And what about Ginny, eh?" George had asked, narrow-eyed. "You dropped her like an anchor - "

" - like a hot potato - "

" -a year ago."

"To keep her safe!"

"Oho, we've heard that one before, laddie," George scoffed.

Harry blinked, bemused. "You have?"

The twins glanced at each other, then shrugged in tandem. "Not really," Fred said, unashamed.

"It just seemed like the right thing to say at the time," George explained.

"Oh, bugger off, both of you."

They had, fortunately.

_Un_fortunately, Charlie had taken their place, apparently determined to give Harry a few pointers on how to properly treat Ginny. He'd tuned out his girlfriend's brother soon after the dragon-tamer started extolling the virtues of chastity belts.

Harry tuned back in abruptly when Charlie said, quite seriously, "Not many people know this, but the biggest side-effect of sex with my sister is castration. I'm hoping you value your balls more than your thrills, mate."

Pale-faced, Harry immediately protested, "I've only ever felt her up a bit!"

It wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever said.

Mr. Weasley had wanted to contact the Order as soon as Charlie had been persuaded to put away his wand and reattach Harry's hands, but Mrs. Weasley had insisted on feeding the wayward trio a veritable feast of a breakfast first, especially after she heard that they'd spent all of the previous day and most of the previous night traveling back to the Burrow.

"Oh, you poor dears!" she'd cried, and even Charlie hadn't looked quite so homicidal anymore.

And then the news that Voldemort was dead came out, though not of the closet, and Mrs. Weasley broke down in tears again. Charlie scrounged up a few bottles of firewhiskey in celebration, and before long he and the twins were riproaringly drunk and even Mr. Weasley'd gotten pretty sloshed.

Ron had tried to sneak a shot or two, but Mrs. Weasley's eagle-like gaze hadn't dulled over the past year. "You may be of age out there," she'd said testily, nodding towards the front door, "but not in this house."

"What, I'm old enough to save world, but not to have a bloody _drink_?" Ron had demanded indignantly. His mother and Hermione spoke simultaneously.

"Ronald Weasley, if I hear such language from you again..."

"Ron Weasley, you watch your tongue..."

Ginny had caught Harry's eye, and they'd both practically choked trying to hold back their laughter. Then Mr. Weasley, swaying slightly on his feet, cried, "My darlig-dalrig-darlinginging-dear Mollywobblesh, give ush a kissh," and everyone from Charlie down to Ginny had a sudden and violent coughing fit while Mrs. Weasley did a smashing job of imitating a tomato.

It was half past noon by the time they'd finally contacted Minerva McGonagall, the new Headmistress of Hogwarts and head of the Order. She'd promptly ordered them all to Grimmauld Place, where Poppy Pomfrey ushered the three prodigal Gryffindors into a bedroom and examined them mercilessly, running every test she could think of and a few Harry was sure she'd made up on the spot. And he really didn't think the Probity Probe was supposed to be used like _that._

Another two hours crawled feebly by, and he figured she wouldn't stop until she'd found something wrong with them, so he'd tentatively said, "Erm, I've a bit of a stomach-ache."

"Why on earth didn't you say so before? I've got a cream for that," she'd replied immediately, looking quite pleased that her services were needed after all.

"My head hurts," Ron offered, then added quietly enough that only Harry and Hermione heard, "thanks to you and your prodding, you sadistic beast."

"I've a cream for that, too," she said happily, and bustled off to fetch said ointments.

"Scary woman," Ron muttered once she was gone, then yelped when Hermione smacked him hard on the arm.

"Show a little respect, Ron," she said sternly.

"Show a little respect, Ron," Ron mimicked in a high, screeching voice that did sound eerily like Hermione's.

Her eyes went narrow and beady. "You are the most infuriating, mindless dunce - "

"You are the most _infuriating_, _mindless _dunce - "

"Ronald Weasley, stop repeating what I say!"

"Ronald Weasley, stop _repeating _what I _saaaay_!"

"Stop it!"

"_Stop _it!"

"You are such a child!"

"You are _such _a _child_!"

"Harry, make him stop!"

"Harry, make him stop!"

Harry glanced up at Pomfrey, who stood staring in the doorway, holding two clear jars full of pale goo. "They can be a bit immature at times," he said apologetically.

"Most teenagers are, Mister Potter," she replied. "I've been hoping to find a cream for that..."

Hermione's cheeks went crimson and Ron's ears went scarlet. A matching set, Harry noted in fond amusement.

They'd eventually escaped Pomfrey's fiendish clutches, only to become a textbook example of the 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' phenomenon. The entire Order had been called to Grimmauld, and every single member was lying in wait for the three teenagers, like hungry tigers awaiting dinner. Only without the orange fur or the fangs. Though Bill's incisors were looking pretty sharp...

_All the better to rip my throat out for touching his sister_, Harry thought, twitching.

But Bill hadn't had a chance to threaten Harry, because McGonagall had ordered everyone into the dining hall of Black Manor. The respite was only momentary, though, as all attention was again focused on Harry and his two best friends. Flattering as it was, Harry still would have vastly preferred a date with Ginny.

Of course, he'd prefer a date with Ginny to winning the lottery, but that was beside the point.

"Now," McGonagall said sternly from the head of the table, looking just as sharp and strict as ever, "we've been more than patient, Mister Potter. It's time for you to tell us exactly where you've been, and how V-V...You-Know-Who..._Voldemort..._died."

Harry glanced nervously to his left, where Ron was staring with apparent fascination at the freckles on his hands. He thought for a second that his best friend was just being bashful, when he noticed the glazed look in the redhead's eyes.

Really, Ron's attention span was even shorter than Dennis Creevey.

Hermione sat ramrod straight next to her boyfriend, and gave the impression of wanting to leap out of her chair and deliver an hour-long oration about their adventures over the past year in epic poetry style.

Harry slowly looked back at McGonagall, who was eyeing him impatiently. He swallowed nervously and wished he was anywhere else. He really hated being the center of attention.

Then Ginny reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezed it supportively, and said, "I must warn you, it's a rather torrid tale of passion and betrayal, of burning love and consuming hatred, of drugs and prostitutes and the dark lords who loved them."

Harry opened his mouth, paused, closed it, and shrugged. It was as good an explanation as any. And, except for the prostitutes part, pretty accurate.

There'd only been a single prostitute, after all. Nice girl, even if she'd been a bit too interested in his and Ron's...erm, bits.

Hermione hadn't much liked her.

"Miss Weasley, I don't believe your name is Potter. At least, not quite yet," McGonagall said dryly, while several of the Order members tried to look like they weren't holding back laughter at Ginny's interjection. Well, either they were suppressing merriment or they were all badly constipated. Harry assumed the former, mostly because he didn't really want to ponder their bowel movements or lack thereof.

He'd almost started to relax when, once again, the Headmistress' gaze returned to him.

"Mister Potter, you may begin."

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Um. Sorry. Blame DWS. I won't ask if I should bother writing another chapter, because I've no doubt the Evil Sleeveless One will make me. And thanks for the reviews, everyone!


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